Of Books And Orchids

*

Hermione sighed as she watched the snowy owl soar out her office window, her short reply attached to its leg. She didn’t know why she accepted when she knew perfectly well what it was.

It happened every year. Hedwig would arrive the day before carrying an invitation to Harry’s house for a “quiet” birthday dinner.

Every year she said yes, knowing full well that when she appeared on Harry’s doorstep and the door was thrown open, she would be bombarded with lights and many happy greetings. She would act surprised and graciously thank everyone, then settle in for an evening of talk and laughter.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate Harry’s gesture, but after eight years, it tended to get a bit repetitive.

Still, every year the owl came and every year she sent back her word with a definite yes.

Hermione sunk into her chair as Hedwig disappeared into the darkening sky. Staring at her desk, she sighed. It was piled high with case studies she’d yet to file. The past few weeks had seen an outpouring of magical mischief and Hermione’s job as head of Misuse of Magic office required her to attend to it all.

She knew it would be better to stay in tomorrow and finish all her work, but she knew she couldn’t. Harry had planned out the party, expecting her to arrive as always, and she would do it.

Harry had seemed a bit down since his divorce with Ginny, but Hermione was sure it would pick up soon. He enjoyed throwing her these parties, and who was Hermione to deny him?

Instead of piling the papers and taking them home as she ought, Hermione simply swept them aside into piles with her wand to wait for tomorrow when she might have more time.

She packed her briefcase that evening slowly, wondering if the party the next day would be any different than always. Already at her house, she’d received birthday greetings from people she knew could not attend the “quiet dinner” of Harry’s.

Her table was littered with flowers, many bunches of yellow roses, although she much preferred orchids. Chocolates rained from the ceiling from the many packages that had already been sent her way.

She was particularly looking forward to going home, picking out the caramel-filled chocolates and taking a long, hot bath. The thought was so enticing that she began to pack quicker, finally snapping the case shut and starting out into the hall.

She wished her coworkers a good day, and with a smile, made her way to the golden entrance hall. Looking around her, she thought to herself that today was the last day she would see this place as a twenty-seven year old. Tomorrow, she would turn twenty-eight, almost thirty. She frowned at this thought, but in the end, shrugged to herself and Disapparated in a pop.

**

The next night found Hermione standing before a darkened door, taking a breath and raising her hand to knock. As she waited, ignoring the hasty shuffling behind the door, she took a second to smooth down her dark blue dress and toss her hair over her shoulder.

She always tried to look nice for Harry’s parties, even if he thought she had no idea they occurred. She always wore a nice dress and high heels, even if they made her feet smart horribly by the night’s end. She tamed her hair down into manageable waves, put on a bit of lipstick and eye makeup.

After a minute or so of hasty whispering, the door was thrown open and Harry greeted her, beckoning her forward into the otherwise dark house.

“Hermione!” he said happily, ushering her in and taking her coat. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, Harry,” she said calmly, waiting for the moment the lights would flicker on to reveal the whole of the Weasley family, and many former Hogwarts students.

Sure enough, once Harry had stowed her coat in the closet by the door, he led her into the dark sitting room that immediately burst into light, revealing the at least twenty guests waiting for her.

“Surprise!” they shouted and Hermione gave a fake gasp, if only for Harry’s sake.

“Wow,” she said, “I wasn’t expecting this at all. Harry, you shouldn’t have.”

Harry just grinned and watched as she walked into the room, engulfed by all her well-wishers.

All the Weasleys were there, as she had expected. George wrung her hand at length, grinning at her. She smiled softly at him, glad that he was doing so well. Ever since Fred’s death, he had been a bit down, as was understandable. He’d kept the joke shop and Ron had joined him eventually to help run it.

Ginny greeted Hermione with a warm hug, wishing her a happy birthday, but Hermione noticed, Ginny’s eyes seemed to be on Harry through most of it.

Most of the rest of the guests were friends or acquaintances from work or school. There was Ernie MacMillan, who now worked at the Ministry as part of the Magical Maintenance staff. The Patil twins were there, Parvati with her boyfriend Michael Corner. Hermione saw Harry eyeing Padma carefully once or twice throughout the evening.

Several of her coworkers had also attended and there were more people Hermione knew from work or school.

After the initial rounds of greetings had been made, drinks were called for and they all toasted Hermione’s health.

Everyone mingled, talking and laughing together, as they always did. Hermione listened to all the stories of everyone whom she hadn’t seen in a year. She was surprised to learn that Parvati and Michael were engaged, that Ernie and Hannah had finally gotten married and were expecting their first child.

Several more drinks later found the party relatively relaxed and happy. Harry announced it was time for presents and Hermione was sat down on the sofa in front of the large coffee table that was piled with all sorts of presents.

Unwrapping the pile, she found herself inundated with gifts, most of which were books. She received books on Charms, books on Transfiguration, books on Magical Law, which she’d already read three times over. She even received the new edition of Hogwarts, A History, which she had memorized backwards to front by now.

The pile soon dwindled and as she reached the last parcel, opening it to reveal a beautiful silk scarf, she knew it wasn’t there.

The one thing she’d wanted for years, had done everything she could possibly imagine to find it herself, wasn’t in her mountain of presents. Every year she hoped someone might be able to find it, to give it to her, but it never happened.

She had tried finding it herself, but to no avail. She had never found it, her searches always ending with a sort of dismal failure that plagued her late at night when she so desired to lay her hands on it.

She hitched a smile back onto her face as she unwrapped the last gift, throwing the scarf around her neck and thanking everyone for their gifts. The guests, it seemed, either didn’t notice the wavering of her smile, or were too schnockered to notice.

The rest of the party was spent talking and laughing with her guests, though it was clear by the end of the night that Hermione was ready to leave.

Standing a little out of the way of the rest of the guests, all of which were having a fabulous time, Hermione sighed and sipped her champagne. She wondered if maybe next year, she, Harry, and Ron could really just have a quiet dinner.

She was watching Ron drunkenly hit on Padma Patil when someone else caught her eye. Hidden in the shadows across the room was someone she hadn’t noticed before.

The man’s tall physique was half hidden by the light cast from a tall lamp. His skin looked smooth and golden in the lamp’s glow and his face was concealed in the shadow.

Hermione frowned as she watched him. He didn’t appear to be engaged in the party, merely standing back and observing. He shifted then and his face came into the light for just a second.

A tiny wave of confusion flowed over Hermione. She knew this man, but not well. It was Blaise Zabini, the Unspeakable from the Ministry, a former Hogwarts classmate. They hardly spoke, never having much contact with their respective jobs in the Ministry. In Hogwarts, she couldn’t remember him speaking much either, in fact, she hardly remembered him at all except for those brief months in sixth year when the Slug Club had met.

Her eyes traveled over his toned physique, how his body seemed to wear the Muggle jeans and button down shirt so well, much better than Ron ever had. She caught herself staring and looked away.

Why had he come to her party? She barely knew him, hardly spoke to him. What business did he have here?

Her thoughts solidified and she plucked up her courage to go ask him why he felt the need to horn in on her party. Around her, several of the guests were leaving and she wished them a distracted goodbye, keeping her eyes on Zabini the entire time to make sure he didn’t sneak away before she could demand what he was doing there.

The party was winding down, but Zabini showed no signs of moving from his concealed spot in the corner. Hermione wondered if Harry even knew he was here.

Finally, several more guests left and Hermione weaved her way through the remaining people to where Zabini was leaning against the wall, his stance casual and uncaring.

She approached him and he didn’t say anything, merely raised his chin, his mouth sliding into a smirk Hermione recognized as something of a Slytherin trait.

“Zabini,” she said commandingly, standing up straighter but cursing her feet as they groaned in pain from the spike heels she’d been sporting all evening.

There was a pause and then Zabini spoke. “Granger,” he said, his voice low and smooth as honey. He was still smirking and his eyes glittered in the pale light that penetrated the shadow.

Hermione frowned at his actions. “What are you doing here?”

“Wishing you a happy birthday, of course,” he said smoothly, his eyes never leaving hers.

Hermione was confused and frustrated at his answer. “But why?” she asked.

“Always have to know everything, don’t you?”

Hermione’s mouth fell open for a second, indignant. She shut it and glared at him for a second. Who did he think he was? Coming to her party and acting like he didn’t care. He had no right to be there!

“You listen, Zabini,” she said, poking him with a finger in his chest, “this is my birthday party and I want to know what—“

“I got you a gift,” Blaise interrupted her.

Hermione stopped suddenly. “What?”

He didn’t say anything, but nodded with his head towards the front door. He turned and moved towards it.

Hermione was frozen for a second, unsure of what to do, but the urge to set him straight was too great, as was the question of why he’d gotten her a gift, so she followed him quietly, slipping away from the party and out the front door.

Zabini led her around the side of the house, away from the front door, stopping just outside the light of an outside house light.

Hermione stopped, putting her hands on her hips. “If you’ve brought me out here just to do something stupid, Zabini, I’m warning you.”

Zabini seemed nonplussed as he watched her, that same irritating smirk on his face once more.

“Now where is this gift you promised me?” Hermione asked, wondering if he’d been lying and was luring her into a trap of some sort.

“First, flowers,” Zabini said.

Hermione rolled her eyes to herself, expecting a bushel of roses to be produced and pressed into her hands, like everyone always did on this day.

She was therefore surprised when Zabini produced from behind his back a single flower, a purple and white orchid.

“How…” she asked, looking from the flower to Zabini, confused. How did he know her favorite flower?

“And the gift,” he said, ignoring her unspoken question.

Hermione looked down as he handed her a small square package wrapped only in tissue paper. With a careful glance at him, she slowly unfolded the delicate folds of paper to reveal the cover of a worn book, its title embossed with gold, almost fading onto the brown background of the cover.

She stared at it, her eyebrows coming together as she read the title, turning it over in her hands, careful with the binding that appeared to be coming apart in places. She took in her breath as her mouth fell open as she opened the front cover and realized just what it was.

It was the gift; the thing she’d wanted for years and yet had never been able to find. This book, the book she held in her hands, almost one-hundred years old and very care-worn, was the one she’d been searching for ever since she’d left Hogwarts.

Stepping back into the light, the gold on the cover gleamed to reveal the title more fully, The Velveteen Rabbit. It had been Hermione’s favorite story as a child, read to her every night by her mother as she’d fallen asleep, the idea of magic in her head, that a rabbit could be loved enough to turn real by the child who believed.

She’d loved this book and ever since had wanted an original copy, but it proved extremely difficult to get her hands on one. Most had been used to the point of disuse or lost, or broken, burned, all sorts of things done to them.

Hermione was speechless as she stared at the book in her hands, knowing what it must have taken to get his hands on this. She looked up at Zabini, wondering why on earth he would get this for her.

“Happy birthday, Hermione,” he said finally, his voice quiet even in the silence of the night.

From inside the house, Hermione could hear the remnants of the party, a few guests laughing, some quiet talking, but it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was why Blaise had gotten this book for her, why he knew her favorite flowers were orchids, why he was at her birthday party when they’d barely ever shared three words.

“Z-Zabini,” she said slowly, hardly able to tear her eyes from the book she held in her hands but managing to search his eyes. “How… why did you… I don’t understand.”

Blaise paused a second, sliding his body forward gracefully, that infernal smirk still on his face. He was watching her quite intently, his eyes barely flickering from her face as he cornered her against the side of the house.

“Hermione,” he said in a low voice that slid down her spine, warm and smooth. “I’ve been watching you for a while. I know you like your coffee black with one sugar. I know you hate the color yellow. I know you wish could help more people. I know you wish you didn’t have to come to this party every year, and I know why.”

Hermione was a bit taken aback by what he appeared to know about her. A part of her was offended that he’d watched her secretly, almost like a stalker, but another part was intrigued as to why he’d done it, mildly pleased he’d been paying attention to her when few other men did.

“And why’s that?” Hermione asked, her tone suspicious. She wouldn’t be too quick to trust him simply because of a gift he’d given her.

“You like quiet,” Blaise said simply, quirking an eyebrow. “You don’t like playing music when you work. You don’t like loud clubs or restaurants. You don’t like large groups of people and feeling obligated to speak to them all.”

“How do you know this?” Hermione asked. She didn’t miss the step he took towards her and the glint in his eyes. Her hands gripped the book tighter, keeping her eyes on him.

“You and I are a lot alike,” he said after a moment. Raising his hand, he placed it on the wall behind Hermione, his body leaning in slowly.

“Zabini,” Hermione said, eyeing him a little nervously. “I think you should go.”

Blaise didn’t react. “You like the book?”

Hermoine was caught off-guard once more by his question that had nothing to do with what she was talking about. “I—Yes, it’s lovely, but—“

“And the flower?”

“Yes, but—“

“Where do you have to run off to so suddenly?”

“I have work tomorrow, early,” Hermione said, wondering why he was refusing to let her go. She could easily slip under his arm and leave, but something held her back. She couldn’t help staring into his dark indigo eyes, not missing the mischievous sparkle there.

Blaise paused a second, glancing down for a second, then raising his head and moving forward. “I’ve got work too but that won’t stop me.”

Hermione was about to ask him what it would stop him doing when she felt his lips brush against hers, soft and warm. She blinked for a second, wondering if she wasn’t feeling the effects of the three glasses of champagne she’d had earlier, or if Blaise Zabini had just kissed her.

She was answered seconds later as Blaise kissed her again, harder and more definite. To say she was surprised would have been a gross understatement. She was caught off-guard by the kiss, pushed back against the wall of the house, her hands still clutching the worn copy of the Velveteen Rabbit.

She could feel Blaise’s hand on her cheek bone, his thumb gliding over her jaw bone as he kissed her. His lips were warm despite the slight chill of the September evening. Hermione felt herself responding to the kiss, opening her mouth to allow his tongue entrance to the cavern beyond.

His body was pressed against hers, so warm and comfortable. One arm was around her waist, his strong hand pulling her against him while he kissed her so easily.

Hermione couldn’t help but submit to the man holding her, kissing her, Blaise. Her eyes jerked open as she realized what was happening, and still holding the copy of her book, she pushed him away.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, staring at him, still breathing hard from the kiss but attempting to hide it. She didn’t want him to know how he’d affected her.

“I was kissing you,” Blaise drawled. “But it seems you’ve put a stop to that.”

Hermione merely glared at him. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t just walk into my birthday party when you haven’t so much as looked at me ever and expect that I’ll just fall into your arms like some Slytherin tram—“

She was surprised again as he cut her off with another demanding kiss. She let out a small shriek at the suddenness of the kiss and struggled to break away. She was saved the trouble, however, when Blaise pulled back abruptly.

“You really didn’t want to finish that sentence, did you?” he asked, taking a step back towards her and twining a hand in her long, dark hair.

Hermione was staring up at him, unable to force herself to think straight. She could feel her heart pounding against her chest, her breathing short, her mouth open but unable to form words. She struggled to find something to say, to say what her brain was screaming: that he was completely out of line for what he’d done that evening, that she was going home straight away, that it meant nothing. But her body would have none of it.

Her soft, but muffled, protest met Blaise’s lips as he kissed her again, this time slower, taking his time to explore that which was Hermione. Her lips tasted like chocolate and champagne, probably from the cake that evening and the drinks she’d had afterwards. They were soft and melted against his once she stopped fighting and succumbed to his masterful touch.

Hermione knew it was wrong, but her misgivings fell away when she felt his hand on her waist, sliding up her hip and around to her lower back where it rested quite comfortably. His other hand was still twined deep in her hair and he tugged her mouth up to his, smirking before kissing her again.

Hermione could feel herself falling, her brain melting into a puddle inside her head, and knew if she had any rational chance to stop this, it was now.

“Blaise,” she said, attempting to break away, but it wasn’t possible. Blaise continued to kiss her, despite her protests. “Blaise,” she said again as he pressed another kiss to her lips. “I don’t—think… We shouldn—“ She stopped as he kissed her again with more passion, his lips pressed hard against hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth, his teeth nipping at her lower lip.

“Oh God,” she whispered as he broke away for a second, showering kisses down her jaw before settling on her neck. Her head was tilted back and her eyes closed as she felt his teeth on her neck, nipping at the soft skin.

His hand had moved, crept down her hip to her thigh, grabbing a fistful of her knee-length dress and pulling it up so he could feel the soft, creamy skin underneath. His leg had also moved, slid in between hers, forcing them apart so he could slide his body even closer. His fingers inched up Hermione’s leg, letting the soft fabric of the dress fall over them as they continued their ascent.

Hermione could feel the touch on her legs, the warm fingers sliding up her inner thigh, slipping further than could be reasoned away as an accident. She gasped when she felt his fingers slip momentarily under her knickers.

“You ready to go?” came the low murmur next to her ear.

“Yes,” she breathed, feeling the thrill of exhilaration run through her body. “Wait, no!” she said suddenly, as though remembering just what was going on. It was lost, though, as Blaise’s finger “slipped” again. “Oh gods, yes,” she whispered, “please.”

One hand holding tightly to Blaise, the other to her book, she felt the familiar feeling of Apparition as Blaise moved them through space.

Opening her eyes, Hermione saw that they were in a rather large bedroom, decorated mostly in green and blue silks. An elegant four-poster, far more elegant than they’d ever been in Hogwarts, sat on the opposite wall, tall regal windows springing up on either side. A small area had been sectioned off as a small sitting area and there were several more doors Hermione could only assume led to other rooms.

Her attention was withdrawn from the room and back onto Blaise as she felt his fingers at her neck, pulling the scarf she’d received for her birthday from it. Slowly, it untwined, slithering through his fingers into a pile on the floor.

She didn’t glance at it, though, her eyes drawn to Blaise’s. There was an intense sort of power to his gaze as he stared at her, his hands continuing to move. A few fingers glided over her neck, sliding across her jaw and tilting her mouth up to his while he smirked in a confident sort of way, mysterious and enticing.

Hermione knew she shouldn’t be doing this, that it was wrong to go home with nearly a complete stranger. He was an Unspeakable, who knew what he might have in mind.

Her rational thoughts were erased, however, as Blaise pressed his warm lips to hers. Her soft sigh was lost in his mouth as they kissed, standing in the middle of the room. Hermione reached down and slid off her heels, dropping about three inches of her height.

Staring up at Blaise, she felt her heart fluttering in her chest, a thrill of exhilaration sweeping through her stomach. Her skin tingled where his fingers lingered, drifting over her neck, down her jaw, his thumb brushing over her flushed cheek until his hand slid back to tangle in her dark hair.

“Blaise…” she said softly as his free hand prized the book he’d given her barely ten minutes ago from her hands and set it down on a small table to his left.

He didn’t answer her, his hand moving to her waist and jerking her forward, her hands automatically going to his chest to steady herself. Under his cotton shirt, she could feel the defined pectoral muscles, hard and strong under her touch.

Her mouth was open slightly as she stared at him, her breath coming quicker, her lower lip trembling slightly. She was nervous, and excited, a flutter of anticipation flitting through her stomach.

“Blaise,” she whispered as he kissed her again, turning her around and backing her slowly up to the foot of his bed. Her legs hit it and she fell, fairly ungracefully.

Gazing up at him from her position on his bed, she could feel herself falling. He climbed on the bed with her, forcing her to move back until he was completely on top of her, his legs straddling either side of her body.

Any second thoughts that may have been surfacing were kissed away when Blaise moved forward, pressing his lips to hers. His hand was in her hair again, tilting her head back as his lips moved over hers, their tongues gliding together in a slow mating of heat and passion.

Her small whimper was lost when he left her mouth, his mouth sliding down to her neck, his teeth leaving marks all down her jaw and exposed collarbone. She felt his fingers pulling down the thin strap of her dress, trailing over her bare shoulder, sending shivers rippling down her spine.

“Blaise,” she gasped as his hand moved to her hip, sliding over the silky fabric of her dress to her thigh.

He ignored her words, pressing kisses to her neck, his other hand sliding down her torso, over the ruching on the bodice of her dress.

Hermione could feel the warm wetness already beginning to soak through her knickers as his hands crept closer to their mark. Blaise’s hand was under her dress, sliding up her thigh, a heavy warm weight on her skin.

Her stomach jumped, a flutter of nerves running through it as his fingers slid under the edge of her knickers.

Her mind struggled to clear itself, her rational thought pushing its way to the surface. It was difficult, though, as she gasped and her body arched upward at Blaise’s touch. She still wanted to know why he was doing this, what he had invested, but at the moment, her body was responding to him and not allowing her mind to wrap around anything logical.

Hermione’s sharp gasp, her low moan of longing, shot straight through Blaise’s body. His hand was under her knickers, slowly rubbing against her skin, feeling the slick wetness coating his fingers. He was sick of being patient, and so removed his hand, gliding it down her inner thigh.

His other hand that had been tangled in her hair released the dark locks, sliding down her back to the zipper. Carefully, he slid it down, his hand sneaking in to the smooth skin of her back.

Hermione moaned softly in his ear, her warm breath ghosting over his neck. Her hands on his body, one under his button-down shirt, forcing it upward.

“Mmm,” Hermione breathed as she felt Blaise’s hand sliding over her bare skin, the top of her dress slowly coming undone. “Blaise, why—“ she started to ask, determined to get some information out of him, but he didn’t allow it, glancing up and kissing her soundly.

Her thoughts were lost again to his talented tongue that slid inside her mouth, performing wicked deeds to her lips. His teeth were pulling on her lower lip and she gasped when he bit down on it for a moment.

He was straddling her and Hermione could feel his hard cock brushing against her thighs. Her dress was being pushed up and soon it was over her head, piled unceremoniously on the floor.

Naked except for her bra and panties, Hermione felt a bit exposed, especially when Blaise was still fully clothed. Deciding she didn’t like the situation, she forced his shirt of, hastily undoing the buttons and pulling it off.

Her neck was tilted back as Blaise pressed a line of kisses down it, while her hands fumbled with the belt at his waist, tugging at it. She felt his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of her jaw and gave a small gasp.

She wasn’t used to this much passion, this much energy. Blaise was ravenous, tearing down her underwear quickly before she even had his belt undone. He was pressing kisses down her collarbone, over her sternum. His hands were on the clasp of her bra, wasting no time getting it undone and off.

It joined her dress on the floor but Hermione’s only thought was of the tongue that was lapping at her nipple, his other hand running over her breast, squeezing softly, giving her dual pleasure.

“Oh God,” she moaned, her eyes closing as she fell back on the bed. Her body was moving against his.

His pants were halfway down and he moved back to shove them off. His boxers went quickly afterward and he moved back over her body, staring down at her.

She looked beautiful to him, panting underneath him, her dark hair splayed over the pillow behind her head. Her skin contrasted nicely to the dark green sheets around her.

His mouth was on her body, littering hot kisses down her torso, over her stomach, his hands sliding up her thighs, barely pressing into her body, searching for that one spot that would make her putty in his hands.

A scorching heat was embracing Hermione as she felt Blaise’s exploration, drifting further and further down her body. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks with every lick of his tongue, every whisper of his fingers against her skin, glistening with sweat already, a light sheen covering her body.

She nearly cried out when his tongue slid down her thigh and to where his fingers had just been. Her hands curled around the slippery sheets as her eyes shut tightly. Her mouth was open and she was panting sharply as his tongue moved within her.

Her low groan reached Blaise’s ears and he glanced up, smirking for a second before stopping his actions and sliding up her body, smirking at her small whimper of protest.

“What do you want, Hermione?” he murmured, dropping a kiss to her neck, nuzzling her ear.

Hermione heard him talking but her brain hardly absorbed it. She was too focused on his hands that were running over her body, his fingers trailing over her hips, up her sides.

“What do I want?” she gasped, feeling his tongue flick out to lick her neck before biting it slightly.

“Yes,” he breathed, a hand skimming over her shoulder. “Tell me what you want.”

“Oh God, Blaise,” she moaned when she felt his erect cock pressing against her lower body, rubbing against her slowly, torturously. “Don’t tease me.”

“But you’re always teasing me,” he replied, his smooth voice low and melodic. He tilted her head back and nipped at her jaw. “You’re always fucking teasing me, Hermione, don’t you know?”

Hermione moaned softly at the words he whispered in his ear, but a part of her wondered just what he meant. His body was almost entirely on top of her, one hand on her neck, the other toying with her hard nipple.

“Wh—what do you m-mean?” she asked, her breath catching in her throat as he plucked at her nipple.

“Those clothes you wear,” Blaise murmured, “those heels showing off your beautiful legs. You always keep your hair up. You should wear it down. You have no idea how much I want to tear that clip out of your hair everyday, how much I want to feel it against my hands.” As if on cue, his hand slid from her neck to her hair, brushing it back from her face as he pressed a kiss just below her ear. His finger twined around a dark lock. “You’re such a fucking tease, walking around with those Ministry people and never looking twice my way. You thought I didn’t notice?”

Hermione was beginning to understand and she struggled to say something but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she let out a gasp as his fingers plunged into her body once more, rubbing against her clit and sending a wave of tingles up her spine.

She heard a whispered spell and felt something slick push into her body. Her body tensed but relaxed quickly. Throwing her arms around Blaise’s neck, she drew herself closer, winding her legs around his back.

“You don’t know you do it, do you?” Blaise whispered, his lips hovering centimeters from hers, his vivid blue eyes staring into hers. “You don’t know what you do to me, how much I want you.”

“Blaise, I—“ Hermione tried to say but he cut her off with a kiss. A sharp pain flared for just a second and Hermione’s cry of surprise broke the kiss.

With little warning, Blaise had entered her, his cock pressing further into her molten heat. His mouth was on her body, leaving hot, wet kisses over her collarbone, down her breast.

He began to thrust slowly, moving his hips back before thrusting forward, slipping deeper into her tight heat. He could feel her muscles squeezing his cock, almost an attempt to force it out, but he pushed forward.

If her moans of pleasure were anything to go on, she liked it. Her hips rose to his with every movement, every slight change of angle, searching for that right place.

Hermione felt the shiver that ran through her body with every movement of Blaise’s body. Her hands were still wrapped tightly around the silk sheets, slipping as they moved together.

“Blaise,” she whispered before gasping loudly.

He moved forward, kissing her deeply as his hips moved, thrusting his cock deeper, wanting more. She was a willing partner, drawing him in closer as she shifted, her legs tightening around his back.

Her breaths were becoming shorter and shorter and as Blaise pushed in harder than before, his cock hitting that spot deep inside her body that made stars erupt in front of her eyes, her head fell back and her body arched.

Words were spilling from her mouth, but she recognized none of them. Her eyes were closed and she could still feel him moving within her as her body was overcome with heat searing through her body.

What felt like hours later, though she was sure it had only been a minute or so, she was coming back to earth, hearing Blaise groan, low and rough, as he came too.

Breathing hard, she felt him roll off her and to the side. She felt his fingers whispering idly over her skin.

Now that she could think somewhat clearly, her mind went back to what he’d said. What did he mean, she was a tease? She’d never done anything like that? Had he wanted her for just sex or was there something more? And there was still the question of the gift. How had he known it was what she wanted?

Struggling to sit up, she turned to Blaise. He was looking quite content, like a cat who’d gotten the canary. He glanced at her as she sat up, turning to him.

“Blaise,” she said quietly. “Will you tell me what this was about?”

Blaise looked at her for a second, then sighed. “You love your job?” he asked suddenly.

“I—yes,” she said after a second, wondering what that had to do with anything.

“You do it well?”

“Yes.”

“So do I.”

Hermione just stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m an Unspeakable, Hermione,” Blaise said, pushing himself into a sitting position. Hermione suddenly felt awkward, sitting naked next to him, and so grabbed a cover and pulled it up to her chest. Blaise ignored this. “I’m trained to watch and observe very carefully. You hardly knew I worked at the Ministry, did you?”

“Well,” Hermione said slowly, “I’ve seen you sometimes.”

“I see you all the time,” Blaise said, his intense gaze resting on her.

“So why did you do all this?”

“I got tired of never being noticed, never getting what I wanted, having it so close and yet unable to attain it.”

He was close now, his hand on her cheek and she let him press a kiss to her lips. “I want you, Hermione.”

“But,” she said, feeling flustered and confused, “I’m not special. I’m not beautiful. I’m not what you could ha—“

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Blaise interrupted her. “I already know.”

Hermione was shocked as he kissed her again, this time a bit harder, as if trying to prove something.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks,” he said. “So tell me one thing, Hermione. Do you want this?”

Hermione was silent for a moment. She’d never known Blaise felt this way. He was always so quiet, a background fixture that no one seemed to notice. She had to admit he was handsome and certainly intelligent if he could attain a job as an Unspeakable.

He cared about her, that much was evident, not least in his choices of gifts. She couldn’t deny she was attracted to him and his outright declaration of wanting her was something she’d never experienced before.

Glancing at him, she saw his intense eyes waiting for her answer, inscrutable.

“I…” she said slowly, her eyes wandering over his face before she gave her definite answer. “I do.”

A satisfied smirk crept onto Blaise’s face and he kissed her softly again, his hand stroking her cheek. “Good choice.”

Hermione laughed. “So how did you know about the book?”

“Top secret Ministry information,” Blaise said simply. “I might have to kill you if I told you.”

“Ah right,” Hermione said. “Department of Mysteries, very hush hush.”

“Mmm,” Blaise agreed, breathing in deeply as he pressed his face into hers. “I have a few other secrets that might be alright to tell.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked. “When do I get to find out about those?”

Blaise paused. “Friday, at dinner.”

Hermione smiled, sliding her arms around his neck and kissing the side of his mouth. “Sounds wonderful.”


~~**~~


A/N: Written for the Hermione birthday challenge at grangerenchanted.com. Hope you liked it! Please review! :)